The survivors moved forward in silence, their footsteps echoing faintly in the narrow corridors of the labyrinth. The sound of the oliphant had faded away some time ago, replaced by an uneasy calm. The group moved determinedly toward what they believed to be the solution to the riddle, but an invisible tension weighed heavily on them. Each of them was absorbed in their own thoughts, trying to push away the doubt that was slowly creeping into their minds.
Saé, in particular, couldn't shake the feeling of unease that grew with every step she took. It was like an insidious shadow whispering to her that something was wrong, that all of this was just a decoy, an illusion carefully orchestrated to lead them where they shouldn't go. She turned to Edano, who was walking beside her, his face closed, focused on their goal.
"Edano," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might break something essential in the air around them. "We should have waited for Bun. I have a bad feeling about this..."
Edano slowed down slightly, turning his head toward her without stopping. His expression was impassive, but there was a hint of fatigue, perhaps even resignation, in his eyes. He sighed softly before replying. "Saé, you know that's impossible. Bun took a different route, and we don't even know if he's still safe. If you really want to go look for him, no one will stop you, but you know what that means..."
Edano's words weighed heavily like a sentence. If Saé left the group now, they would lose the majority needed to solve the puzzle, and all their efforts could be reduced to nothing. She knew this, and it made her sick. But the idea of abandoning Bun, leaving him alone to face who knows what danger, was just as unbearable.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, as she pondered these conflicting thoughts. Her instincts screamed that something terrible was about to happen. The actions of the mysterious group, their calculated behavior, the ambiguous words they had exchanged... All of this left no doubt in her mind. They had planned everything. Every move, every decision seemed to have led them exactly where they wanted to go. It was as if the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and Saé felt increasingly trapped.
She glanced around, scanning the faces of the other survivors. They all seemed focused on the goal, but there was a shadow in their eyes, a latent doubt that united them all despite themselves. No one was talking about Bun, and it broke her heart. Was this really their only option? Did they really have to sacrifice a life to solve this puzzle?
Saé took a deep breath, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat. She knew there was nothing she could do now. The die was cast, and she felt like a pawn in a game that was beyond her control. But she couldn't help wondering, with growing anxiety, if this wasn't exactly what the mysterious group had wanted. And if that was the case, where would it lead them?
The air was heavy, almost unbreathable. Bun now found himself in a stifling room, surrounded by dull, windowless walls. The dim light filtering through a half-open door was swallowed up by the oppressive darkness of the place. The incessant sounds of traffic and countless crowds echoed outside, transforming the place into an auditory prison where every sound amplified his despair.
[Your Crowded Hell.]
This notification had materialized before his eyes, a merciless sentence that seemed to seal his fate in this dreamlike hell. The house he was in vaguely reminded him of his childhood home, but in reverse, as if every pleasant memory had been twisted and corrupted to extract the very essence of suffering. It was the antithesis of everything that had ever represented a refuge for him. Here, there was no safety, replaced by an ever-present threat.
Before he could even understand what was happening, pain struck him, brutal and relentless. The four figures surrounding him wasted no time. They threw themselves at him, their hands turned into claws, their smiles twisted with cruelty. The first blow came, a fist as hard as iron sinking into his ribs, crushing his lungs and knocking the wind out of him. Bun collapsed to the ground, his knees hitting the concrete hard, but the fall didn't stop there.
A vicious kick to the head sent him tumbling, his skull striking the ground with a thud. Pain exploded in his skull like a bomb, a shockwave reverberating throughout his entire being. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, a red trail forming on his chin. The attackers didn't stop. They continued to strike him, their blows multiplying, blending into a macabre symphony of violence.
Bun was nothing more than a rag doll, tossed from side to side by the force of the blows. Each impact brought him closer to the abyss, the shadow of death hovering over him like a hungry vulture. He felt his bones crack, his muscles tear under the brute force of the assaults. His cries of pain were lost in the din of the city, muffled by the chaos outside, indifferent to his fate.
As the pain reached its peak, his mind snapped, taking him back to a time when he had to face another kind of violence, that of everyday life. He saw himself standing in front of the mirror, desperately trying to prepare himself to face the world. Memories of those moments when he repeated his lines over and over again, trying to control his fear, came back to him in painful flashes. The image of his mother, gentle and protective, overlapped with that of his attackers, transforming their cruelty into an unbearable betrayal.
But here, there was no one to save him. No loving parent, no loyal friend, just him, alone, against this gang of monsters who took pleasure in tearing him to pieces. Their brutality knew no bounds. One of the men grabbed Bun by the hair, lifting him off the ground before slamming him against the wall. Bun's head hit the wall with a thud, a sinister crack echoing through the room. His vision blurred, the contours of the world becoming hazy as reality dissolved into nightmare.
Their cruelty intensified with each passing moment. One of them pulled out a knife, a maniacal smile distorting his features. He plunged the blade into Bun's shoulder, driving it deep into the flesh before yanking it out brutally. Blood spurted out, a red cascade splattering the wall. The pain was unbearable, burning, radiating from the wound and spreading throughout his body. But for his attackers, it was just a game, a way to amuse themselves with their prey.
The woman approached, a sadistic gleam in her eyes. She leaned over him, her lips murmuring words Bun couldn't understand. Her hand gently caressed his face before closing brutally around his throat, strangling him with merciless force. Bun was suffocating, his breath becoming scarce, each inhalation a torture.
As he felt his consciousness wavering, one last blow, delivered with incredible violence, struck his chest. He felt as if his heart had stopped, his breath cut off, his vision going black. For a moment, Bun felt as if life was leaving his body, everything becoming cold and silent. He could no longer distinguish the boundary between dream and reality. He floated between two worlds, trapped in this hell created by Zhuangzi's Pacifier.
Then everything went black...
Bun slowly reopened his eyes, hoping that the excruciating pain would fade away with the nightmare. But instead of the comfort of reality, he found himself plunged into an eerie darkness, a heavy and oppressive silence replacing the deafening noises of the crowded city.
As he tried to sit up, his battered body protesting with every movement, he saw a figure a few meters in front of him, a vaguely familiar shadow. It was a child, frail and vulnerable, whose contours were blurred as if in a dream. Bun froze, a mixture of hope and terror battling in his mind. He recognized this child. Even from behind, there was no doubt about it. It was himself, a reflection of his past, a buried memory resurfacing in this nightmare.
The child remained motionless, his back turned, as if waiting for something. Bun's heart tightened, a painful knot forming in his chest. He knew, deep down, that this apparition was just an illusion, a cruel trick of his mind trapped by Zhuangzi's Pacifier. Yet he couldn't help but feel a strange closeness, an unbreakable bond with this version of himself.
Breathless, Bun reached out to the child, a desperate plea, a silent prayer for him to turn around, to help him escape this hellish spiral. His trembling hand stretched out into the heavy air, his fingers desperately reaching for what he knew to be a memory of lost innocence.
"Help me..." he whispered hoarsely, barely louder than a breath.
But the child did not move. He remained frozen, his back turned like an impenetrable wall between them. Bun's arm was still outstretched, reaching toward this echo of the past, but there was no response. Not a gesture, not a word. The child stubbornly remained turned away, refusing to acknowledge Bun's call.
It was as if his own past was rejecting him, as if even this innocent version of himself refused to reach out to him. A wave of despair washed over him, the weight of abandonment growing heavier, more oppressive.
Suddenly, a dark shape appeared in his field of vision, emerging from nowhere with frightening speed. One of his attackers, more menacing than ever, materialized in front of him, a sadistic smile distorting his features. Before Bun had time to react, a blade flashed in the darkness, slicing through the air with icy precision. The arm he had stretched out toward the child, the hand desperately seeking help, was severed cleanly, the searing pain causing him to scream in terror and agony.
Blood spurted out, a crimson rain splattering the ground around him. Bun fell to his knees, breathless with horror at what had just happened. His arm, or rather what was left of it, was a gaping wound, a disarticulated limb from which blood flowed in steady streams. The attacker, satisfied with his work, leaned toward him, his smile even wider, even more cruel.
"No one is coming to help you, Bun. Do you think you're in a movie? That all this has meaning, a happy ending?" He sneered, a disgusting sound that echoed in the cold air. "This isn't a movie. It's your life. And in your life, there are no spectators to save you."
The word "movie" echoed in Bun's mind, spreading deep into his consciousness. He then remembered, like a sudden flash, that conversation with his mother, a memory that seemed to belong to another life, another world. He saw himself sitting on the sofa in their small apartment, a young boy lost in his dreams and hopes.
"Mom, do you think you could be the spectator of my story?" he had asked with touching innocence, his eyes shining with hope.
His mother had laughed softly, a warm and comforting laugh that had always calmed his fears. "You know, Bun, you could also be the spectator of your own story. But remember, you're the one living it. So live it well."
Those words, spoken in a moment of tenderness, came back to Bun like a wave of nostalgia, a comforting warmth in the freezing cold of his nightmare. But that warmth was quickly replaced by a searing pain, a suffering so intense that it seemed to overwhelm him completely.
The world around him began to waver, dissolving into a black mist. Pain, despair, all mingled in a hellish whirlwind. The last thing he felt was a blow, an impact so brutal that it seemed as if his very soul had been torn from his body. Then everything went black, a deep silence engulfing his mind, plunging him into an endless abyss.
Bun fainted, swept away by the wave of darkness, his last memories drowning in the turbulent sea of his unconsciousness.